


too much too late (just not enough of this)

by Trojie



Series: the ghost of you [3]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sharing a lover, Sloppy Seconds, Tour Bus Sex, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: 'I got you both,' Frank snarls. 'I - just fucking let me, Gerard, I swear to God.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> (a missing Gerard-POV scene from _could I? should I?_ )

Gerard is lying on the sofa in the lounge of the bus, with his head hanging off the edge, watching Ray and Bob drink and Officially Not Caring about it, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

_bathroom now_ says FRANKIE.

Given Frank disappeared with Mikey about half an hour ago, that's ... interesting. Gerard heaves himself off the sofa and has to catch himself against the wall of the bus because whoa, headrush. Ray looks up from his beer and his guitar and he doesn't need to ask questions - he reads Gerard pretty good, just like Gerard reads him. Ray's always checking in with Gerard these days. 

It gets kinda annoying sometimes, but the part of Gerard that lies underneath the layer that Officially Doesn't Care about things like beer any more, that part appreciates having Ray as a safety net. He's only been Officially Not Caring for a few months. His grip on it ... hasn't slipped, not yet, but there have been times. Times he reached out and would have grabbed something regrettable except there was Ray in the way. 

'Gotta use the can,' he says, shrugging. He pockets his phone. 

Ray glances back towards the rear of the bus, the bunks, the toilet. He's not stupid. He knows about Gerard and Frank's ... thing. Whatever you want to call it. Gerard used to call it their drunk friendly thing, but he doesn't get drunk any more and for a time there it wasn't very friendly, either. 

It's been a while. Since before Japan, actually, except for shit on stage, and even then there hasn't been much of that. Mostly just singing into the same microphone, an excuse to have Frank all warm and frantic next to him. The fans make shit out of it, but it's still plausibly deniable. 

Well. Until tonight, anyway. 

Ray _knows_ about Gerard and Frank's thing. Ray knows they didn't quite end it after Japan. Ray also saw how they kissed tonight. 

He raises an eyebrow at Gerard and Gerard makes the 'what?' face. Ray rolls his eyes and turns back to the guitar. Message received loud and clear - okay buddy, you do what you want. 

The thing about Ray that Gerard loves is that if Gerard does what he wants and it goes to shit, Ray will help him fix it. Or sit in the Emergency Department with him til it gets patched up. Or whatever. Gerard's pretty clear on the fact that without Ray he wouldn't be here today, or at least, he wouldn't be on tour today, wouldn't still have a band to sing for. So he respects Ray's opinion on shit like this. But 'do what you want' means Ray thinks Gerard is being a dumbass but not a self-destructive dumbass. That's okay. He can work with those odds. 

Gerard's pocket vibrates again and he doesn't bother checking it, just goes back down the bus. 

Frank's in the toilet with no shirt on and his jeans zipped up but not buttoned, and he looks fucking high his eyes are so dark. But that's just Frank. 'What?' Gerard asks, looking at him, trying to Officially Not Care about wanting to shove him up against the tiny sink and fuck him raw just like he Officially Didn't Care about the beer. 'You okay?'

'Your brother,' says Frank hoarsely, leaning into what little of Gerard's space he wasn't already in (this is a fucking tiny bathroom, okay?), 'told me to send his regards.'

The way Frank kisses Gerard now is approximately the same as the way he kissed him on stage, only this time he tastes of vodka and stinks of sex, and Gerard kisses back on automatic pilot until he parses that fucking sentence and then realises what Frank means by it and then he can't help shoving Frank up against that wash-hand basin and fucking _eating him alive_. 

'This is so fucking wrong,' he says when they finally break for air. 'Frankie, are you kidding me? I thought you and Mikey were -'

'You telling me I gotta choose between you?' Frank growls. He laughs in Gerard's face. 'I thought you two were good at sharing?'

The image of that alone would make Gerard weak at the knees but Frank's jeans have been sliding down his flat little ass and he grabs Gerard's hand and pulls it around to feel how fucking soaked through the seat of his pants is.

'C'mon, Gee,' he says, shivering with something Gerard reads as glee. 'Share?'

His jeans are practically around his ankles already. Gerard shoves a foot down in between Frank's calves and wrenches the denim off him, kicks it away, and then rushes hard into Frank and hikes his thighs up. 

Three months ago, he would have done this without a second fucking thought, but as Frank wraps his legs around Gerard's hips, Gerard gets a stab of conscience somewhere in the middle of the roar of blood surging down his body. 'You better be telling me the truth,' he says, giving Frank a sharp little shake, baring his teeth. 'Does he know you're here?'

Frank arches his back against the wall. 'Have I ever fucking lied to you? What, Gee, do you want a signed transfer of ownership or something?'

Gerard nips Frank's long, pretty, inked-up neck to make him shut up. 'No-one fucking owns you, asshole.'

Nothing makes Frank shut up for long, though. 'A note, then? I didn't get him to write me one, sorry.' He curls an arm around Gerard's neck, pulls him in close. 'I think he figured this'd do,' he adds, and reaches down to start on Gerard's belt buckle. 'Not gonna need to do anything but slide on in,' he whispers. 'He did a good job, getting me ready for you.'

Gerard's jeans slide down off his hips and he sinks his teeth into Frank's neck because Frank's hand is around his cock all of a sudden, steadying it against how hard it's jerking, and there's the barest edge of resistance as Frank starts to work himself, wet and slick, no underwear, down on it. 

'Oh, fuck,' Frank breathes. Gerard keeps biting, sucking hard til there's the foundation of a bruise being built, licking over it, because Frank's taking him so fucking good, he's so fucking wet, and the reason why he's so wet is making Gerard crazy. 

He doesn't like to feel this out of control, not any more. The ghost of the taste of vodka, another legacy of Mikey, isn't helping.

Frank's ass hits Gerard's hips, he's sheathed all the way in there and shit, fuck, they should be using a fucking condom - 

'Feels so good,' Frank moans quietly, head thunked back against the wall. Gerard digs his fingernails into Frank's waist and scrapes his teeth over the hot red shape of his own mouth he's left in between Frank's adam's apple and his tattoos, and agrees. Frank rolls his body between Gerard and the wall over and over again, fucking himself, but Gerard can do better than that. Oh shit yes. He plants one forearm on the wall and hooks the other around Frank's skinny little waist and fucks his hips up. Frank lets a louder moan out, too loud. 

'Shut up,' Gerard hisses at him, thrusting again. 'Put your goddamn fingers in your mouth, Frankie, do it. If you can't keep quiet -'

Frank gasps a laugh and does what he's told, but Gerard knows full fucking well that half the reason Frank's doing it is because he knows how fucking hot it gets Gerard to watch him suck on something. Frank's not good at being told what to do unless he gets something out of it in return. 

Gerard thrusts harder and watches Frank quake and struggle to keep his thighs tight. He's slipping, weakening as Gerard pounds into him, and Gerard fucking likes that, likes how it weighs Frank heavier against him and makes Gerard have to work harder to really fuck him the way he deserves to be fucked. 

He's gonna come, he's so close from Frank around him, and he likes that part, coming in Frank when Frank's all fighty and hard-up desperate for it, because it means he gets to make him more desperate, makes him think he's not going to get off at all (like Gerard would ever leave him unsatisfied, he has his fucking pride), because, fuck, there are so many ways to make Frank blow and Gerard likes to have the brainpower to pick one and do it perfect and watch the way he comes apart. 

So when he can't hold it back any more and Frank's fucking hiccuping around his own fingers and riding Gerard like he's a racehorse, he lets it swallow him up and take him over and burn through him. 

Frank throws his arm around Gerard's neck, his sloppy, spit-coated fingers smearing Gerard's throat and wetting his shirt collar. Gerard pumps his hips into Frank's ass hard one last time and lets it go, lets his eyes roll back and his teeth find that hot little spot one more time. 

'Gee, god,' Frank wheezes. 'C'mon, fuck, fucking - leave him a note, Gerard.'

'What?' Gerard asks, blinking as his brain comes back online one neuron at a time. He's still half-hard inside Frank still, and Frank's trying to get friction on it. 'Note?'

Frank's eyes are pupil all through, dark and dangerous. 'You like writing on people,' he says, squeezing Gerard's waist. He grabs Gerard's hand, runs the rough pads of the tips of his fingers over Gerard's nails. 'Write on me.'

'Frank -' Gerard pulls his hand away, trails up the inside of Frank's thigh, aiming to get to his dick but to make sure it's twitching and wet and aching for him first. Frank growls and yanks Gerard back, presses Gerard's fingernails hard into the skin of his tight belly. 

'Tell him,' Frank says. 'Fucking tell him what this is. Do it like this or tell him in person or fucking write him a fucking song, you diva, but -' he squirms again on Gerard's dick and makes a noise that's unholy, '- fuck, I don't fucking care, just -'

Gerard drags his nails up Frank's body, hypnotised by the raw red lines they leave behind, and Frank sobs. His dick is leaking like a faucet. 

'This has to be the last time,' Gerard whispers, staring at the marks he's making as his fingers change direction, down, at an angle. 'He needs you.'

'You need me,' Frank shoots back in a broken voice. 'We both know it. We both know how fucked up you get when you don't have something to -'

'- Frank -' 

'Gerard, will you just -'

'He's fucked up too!' Gerard hisses, clawing his fingers up again. 'Shit, Frankie, he's gonna - I can see it about to happen, okay? We're the fucking same, walking fucking disaster areas and I can't stop him. I need you to help him more than I need -'

Frank closes his hard, calloused hand around Gerard's and pushes it back down again, carves his nails deep, a straighter line this time than Gerard's been managing. 'I got you both,' he snarls. 'I - just fucking _let me_ , Gerard, I swear to God.'

Gerard's nails catch hard and Frank swears and comes in sudden, boiling stripes over the scratches, twisting and curling between Gerard's body and the wall, thudding hard as his spine arches, until the ecstasy or the pain or whatever it is he's feeling in there passes, and then he lets his legs sag down and Gerard finally slips out of him. 

They lean on each other as they catch their breath, both of them shaking. It's always like this when they fuck, it always leaves Gerard feeling wrung out. 

'M,' Frank says, looking down between them at what Gerard left behind on him. 'Huh.' There's a question there, and it's a fair one, and Gerard doesn't have an answer for it.

'I dunno,' says Gerard, shrugging. 'Fuck, Frankie, what do you want me to say?'

'Y'know,' says Frank, looking up at him with an expression a shit-ton more understanding than Gerard deserves, 'I think you've said it.'


End file.
